Annie Burned the House Down

The social worker put her hand on my back

when she left me here in Sarcelles. It’s not her fault—­how

could she have known that when anyone touches me

even a fingertip

my body becomes barbwire? Living with Gran’Ida,

this is a problem.       

o touchy.

A hand on your shoulder.

A pat on your thigh.

A palm smoothing the wrinkle of your shirt.

I’ve learned from the internet that people

are animals: we can barely describe ourselves

without them.

Mad as a bull.

Deer in the headlights.

Crazy as a loon.

When animals are confronted

with danger, they survive

in three ways:

fight light reeze

One friendly touch on the shoulder

and I am bull eer oon.

Mom Barbara says I’ve always been this way.

Born jumpy   as a rabbit].

I don’t remember, but maybe she’s right.

Born to escape.

Blood that smells a trap.

If I can get through these six months

without being touched

I will consider it a tiny   urvival.

Horses

I forgot there were horses.

And so many.

They dot the fields, they crowd the fences, they talk

to each other over barbwire. Watch them long

enough and you know that they can speak:

ears and tails, a crescent of white

around the eye.

Gran’Ida sees me looking

on my fourth morning

in her house.

If you get kicked, you weren’t paying attention.

There’s always signs.

There are always signs. Sometimes

you blow right past them.

June 1

Michael has been “dead” for one year.

I don’t have a car so when I walk the country roads around Gran’Ida’s house, I have to imagine them from behind a steering wheel, the way he would see them if for some reason

he came zooming through Sarcelles from Boston.

I’m not sure when Mom Barbara and I made the agreement to regard him being gone as being

gone

but as with everything else, we did it silently.

My memory has holes, but in it, Gran’Ida cooked.

I was little then, and my brother “alive,” and my mother still unsmiling.

The drive here once or twice a year meant pot roast waiting, pancakes on our last morning.

This is different.

Theresa the social worker drove me out, and there was pot roast waiting.

But Grandpa Joe is dead [and so is Michael] and Barbara is alive

but not here, and by now Gran’Ida has arthritis in her knees.

Cereal in the morning.

Lunch on my own.

Dinner is still pot roast from the Crock-­Pot a lot of the time

but it’s different than I remember.

That said, I don’t remember much.

I miss lying to Barbara.

Sometimes I’d tell her I was going for a walk and be gone

for six hours. I would actually be

–at work

–sitting at a bus stop but not getting on

–at the library

–at the zoo (once)

–anywhere/nowhere

I would come home and she’d be angry—­where the hell

have you been, you said you were taking a walk

and I’d tell her I got lost, or that I took the long way,

that I had lost track of the day.

I called you ten times

and there would be my phone on the couch

where I’d left it on purpose.

Jesus, use your head, she’d say

and I’d shrug, apologize.

Like building a statue of a clown

piece by piece

then gradually letting it sleep

in my bed, wear my clothes,

sit at the table.

She thought/thinks I’m stupid.

So did/does Michael.

I let them. It’s another way

of being invisible.

But there are fewer lies to tell in Sarcelles.

Gran’Ida never asks where I’m going. When I tell her

she just nods, and there’s no reason to lie

if she doesn’t care either way.

I roam.

I give myself the walking tour

to see if what I remember

grows. But this is just a place

like any other place. The roads

are just roads: they lead nowhere

and I walk them.

Tour: post office

A woman older than Gran’Ida at the counter—­Easter-­pink hair.

Her name tag says peggy and I say hello: Do you have a package that’s being held for me? Sheena Green.

Peggy checks. She checks really well.

While she checks, she gossips to the other woman

behind the desk, farther back

and sorting mail.

Maybe she’s gone, Peggy says. Or maybe not?

Remember that show? Netflix I think.

Where the girl disappears and everyone

thinks she’s dead but it turns out

she’s hiding in her mother’s house

and it’s all an insurance scam?